I Was There That Day
by grab bag
Summary: A girl reflects back on the protest she attended five years ago. The newsies may be free, but she wants a different kind of justice- one for all women everywhere. Author's holiday fic.


'Allo, everyone. I just saw Newsies the other day, and let me say- great movie! For those readers unfamiliar with my writing habits, I usually write a new fic for each holiday. Usually it's Holes related, but I decided to do something a little different.  
  
One of the problems I usually have with good movies is the incredible lack of female characters. This is usually because good movies are about boys, while movies about girls are "chick-flicks," which I despise.  
  
Some people attempted to solve this by using sisters, cousins, and inevitably, girlfriends of the Newsies. That is so cliché, it makes me sick.  
  
Why were there no girls in the story? There should have been. The only girl in the story was a simpering little airhead with no determination, no passion for justice.  
  
Here is the story of the girls who mattered. The ones who were up there on the front line, fighting for freedom. The girls who would grow up into suffragettes.  
  
Their story is the one that matters.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: None of the copyrighted stuff is mine. Original characters are.

* * *

I was there that day.  
  
For months people would talk about that day in 1899 when kids from all over the city came together and fought the injustices of laissez-faire. When a strike led by a small group of newsies escalated into the biggest protest we'd ever seen.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
When the newsies passed out hand printed, home copied papers they'd made with Mr. Pulitzer's old printing press, they knocked on the door of my sweatshop. The other girls were afraid of the boys, but none of them could read either. I took a copy. I read it to them.  
  
I still have mine, faded and worn.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
I talked to my girls, the ones in my sweatshop. We were young, only 13 or so. They were scared. They were hesitant. They were afraid. They didn't want to go.  
  
I was angry. Didn't we deserve the rights too? Didn't we deserve shorter hours? Better wages? Protection? What did the boys stand for that we didn't deserve too?  
  
I finally convinced them all to go. It wasn't easy. They didn't like it. But they went.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
When the messenger boys and shoe shiners, stable boys and laborers all assembled in the square, I was there that day.  
  
When the girls all cheered for the boys in charge, I stood on the nearest fence. My skirt got ripped and dirty, I didn't care. The other girls may have cared what their one dress looked like, I didn't. This was big, bigger than all of us, bigger than some dress. This was our chance. Our chance for rights, money, maybe even a chance to vote someday. Our chance for freedom.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
The other girls clapped. I hurled protests.  
  
The girls smiled, chanted with the crowd. I tossed insults.  
  
I was angry there, that day. I could feel the anger boil in my blood. I wanted to be at the front line, to take the blows along with anything the boys took. We were all in this together. I wanted justice. I wanted equality. I wanted freedom. Just like everyone else.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
When the boy called Jack Kelly told us we had won, I cheered louder than the girls. They may have thought it impolite to be so overzealous. I didn't care.  
  
I was there the day we thought we would be set free.  
  
I was there that day.  
  
But now it's five years later. All the newsies have grown up, and they're all working men now. I've grown up too.  
  
But I'm still making less money than them. A lot less.  
  
I don't know exactly how much less. I never went to school past 4th grade. I can't do more than simple equations.  
  
But what use have I for math? What use does a girl have for education?  
  
In addition to my job, I'm still responsible for cleaning my house and doing the household chores, and will be until I marry.  
  
Then I will do the chores in my husband's house.  
  
Does it ever end?  
  
Will I ever get to learn? To read the philosophy, the great classics, to learn about the scientific workings of the natural world? When does my homemaking end and my life begin?  
  
When can I vote?  
  
When do I get to have a say in who runs my life? My husband's life? My children's life?  
  
When do my fellow women and I get a chance to be free?  
  
We were there that day.  
  
We fought just as hard for our rights as the boys. But we don't have all the same rights. We aren't free.  
  
Everyone has a voice, they told us. One voice becomes a hundred, then a thousand.  
  
Not me. Not us.  
  
When the voice is stifled, that's when we lose.  
  
Born women, we was born stifled.  
  
Born women, we was born losing.  
  
Stifled by everything and everyone who wants to keep us "where we belong."  
  
In our homes. Under the husband's and father's rules.  
  
But those of us who can think for ourselves, those of us who care, those of us who fought that day, when we were there- we have hope.  
  
Because we have seen what happens when the few become many.  
  
Because we have seen what happens when the oppressed become strong.  
  
Because we have seen what a few kids with a dream can do.  
  
And I'll be there on that next day, when instead of newsies shouting "Strike!" it'll be women shouting "Rights!"  
  
Because we were there that day.  
  
I hope you'll be there too. 


End file.
